


Wear Your Rues

by eihas



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Forneus (Fire Emblem) - Freeform, Gen, Post-Game, Spoilers, backstory stuff pretty much, he doesn't seem to have his own tag but thats fine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2018-12-25 06:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12029727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eihas/pseuds/eihas
Summary: Upon the defeat of the Fell Dragon, Robin disappears alongside Grima, much to Chrom's grief. But between the time of his supposed death and the time of his return, he meets his ancestor and past life in what is neither anywhere nor everywhere. He is the first vessel, Forneus. From him, Robin learns of his past life, Forneus' relationship with the First Exalt, and the events that lead to the tragedy of Thabes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> he's my only home  
> won't go back, oh no  
> he is my only home  
> call me crazy, i am wild  
> i've been in love since i were a child  
> and i will never forget the face  
> that put me in my grave.
> 
> \- ophelia. / ezza rose.

Robin felt his hands shaking as the last of the Fell Dragon blew away into the breeze, brittle bits of bone and flesh dissipating into a black and violet smoke as if it had been made of nothing but crushed vine charcoal and empty delusions. The moment should’ve been a victorious one, Grima’s terrible ravings finally punctured by his own defeat, another evil slain,  the Shepherds cheering and celebrating all the way home.

But it could never be so simple. The tension in the air, a thick anxiety that was ballooning into something exciting, popped prematurely at the sharp sound of Robin’s cry.

Something felt like it was leaving him, like a half tearing itself away as he gripped his chest and fell to his knees. Everything around him sounded muted, the pain so splintering and white hot that the world spun, swirling colors of the red sky meeting the black ground. Even the roar of the dragon who began to fall had become a mere buzz. In a rush of plated armor and ruined fabrics, Chrom ran to him.

“Robin? What’s wrong? Hey, snap out of it!” he called out, shaking him as if to stir him from whatever this was.

They were quickly losing altitude, and the scales of the dragon upon which they stood began to break off, shattering away tail first in a flurry of shattered black obsidian. The army screamed as they clutched onto the few scales that remained, swords and spears driven into draconian flesh in order to stay afoot, wyvern and pegasi wailing for retreat. 

“Robin, we have to leave! Quickly!”

The pain burned ever brighter, ever stronger, and the tactician grit his teeth so hard he thought his jaw would crack and bones would break.

“Robin!” Chrom cried desperately, spearing the Falchion into the back of the beast, cradling him as best he could.

A warm and golden light glistened behind him, overcoming the dark and terrible ashes of the falling dragon, engulfing the suffocating black particles in its radiance. Chrom squinted as he turned to face it, still clutching onto the man beside him. A flood of relief washed over him as his army disappeared into the light, and from it emerged the Lady Goddess Naga, looking absolutely serene amidst the chaos. The violent winds merely flew through her hair, like fingers combing viridescent locks, the rare stray strands glistening like its own stream of threaded gold. 

She had come to take him home.

“Make haste,” she insisted, holding out her hand. “There isn’t much time.”

“Chrom,” Robin croaked as he reached for her. His fingers clutched the front of the exalt’s wear. “Chrom, I can’t go with you.”

“Not now! We have to go!”

“No, listen to me!” he said sharply, despite his weary face. “I can’t! It’s too late!”

“What are you talking about?!” he screamed between the howling winds and the howling beast.

“Exalt,” Naga called out, her slender fingers curling ever so slightly. “You must leave the vessel. He will not make it.”

“No! No, we can still save him! My lady, please!”

“I cannot,” she said simply, her words cutting through his pleas. “I have told you before -- I am not a god. I do not have the power to undo a death.”

“You can’t! He’s saved us! The world! Please --”

“Chrom you absolute  _ dolt _ ,” Robin coughed, releasing his grasp on his front. “Get out of here!”

“But Robin --”

His eyes widened as he turned back to his tactician, half his form already disintegrated into a specks of light, blown away by the wind, and scattered into the sea like his doppelganger before him.

With one final effort, Robin jerked away from his grasp, shoving him forward. The Falchion came undone from the dragon and Chrom flew into Naga’s arms, struggling against her hold.

“Robin!” he shrieked, as he was consumed by her embrace, golden light engulfing his sight. “Robin, I’ll come back for you! I’ll find you! Do you hear me?! Wait for me!!”

The ends of his coat fluttered as Robin sat up, shooting him one last crooked grin.

“May we meet again in a better life.”

And with that, he vanished.

 

-

 

_ “He said he’d come back for you.” _

He opened his eyes at last, silver lashes fluttering as he groaned, pressing his knuckle to the bridge of his nose. He was first greeted with a splitting headache, and it took him good hot minute before the world finally shifted into a clear picture. He was laying on his back, straws sticking at his back and making his skin itch. The ceiling was dreary, a boring slate gray decorated with the dancing shadows cast by a fire.  _ A fire? _

He turned his head and beside a fireplace was a man, legs crossed as he sat at a table teeming with books and scrolls. They piled atop the desk, halfway to the ceiling, and littered the floor around him, pages open, half unraveled, looking worn and long forgotten.

Robin looked at the stranger. The stranger looked at Robin.

In blind rage, the tactician jumped off his bed and reached for his throat, the other hand reaching for the sword that usually sat on his hip. The man grabbed his wrist as quickly as Robin leaped for it, twisting it and throwing him off to the side. Dizzied by his own sudden movements, Robin crashed into a pile of scrolls and groaned weakly, a particularly heavy book hitting the back of his head with a thud.

“Please, I’m not much of a fighter,” the stranger said with a gasp. “That hit will leave a bruise. Come, sit back on the bed. You’ve only just arrived; you can’t start losing your head now.”

The grandmaster of Ylisse, slayer of the Fell Dragon, bested by an imposter with a book.

“Who are you?” he asked as snappishly as one could manage while feeling as frail as a newborn lamb. His limbs quivered as he tried to sit back up, shoulder hunched in the battle - ready manner of a two time war veteran. Three now, if he counted Grima.

The man shot him a withering look. He held an uncanny resemblance to the tactician, with his short tousled silver hair and tan skin. He had all the same facial structures, the same high cheekbones and the same oval jaw and the same way the bridge of his nose was just slightly crooked. And his eyes glistened that same honey brown hue, the luminance of the fireplace dancing in the color.

“I’ve defeated you,” Robin snarled, clutching the few piles of books around him for support. “Even in death you’d pursue me like this --”

“Yes, you’ve defeated Grima,” the stranger said with the wave of his hand, stepping closer. “That’s why you’re here, aren’t you? My missing half.”

“What?”

The man gripped Robin’s forearm and pulled him up, and he felt a strange surge of strength return to him. His legs no longer shook beneath him as he stared in disbelief.

He had missed details, in his paranoia and delirium. The man’s hair wasn’t short; he sported a thin braid over his shoulder. His ears were pierced with something golden and he had a beauty mark right under his left eye. He looked an awful lot like Robin, yes, enough to have confused  _ himself _ , but…

“To you, I am the first of your bloodline and the first of your spirit,” he said gently. “You hold my other half.”

He smiled wryly, his grip on Robin’s arm tightening.

“To the living world, I am the creator of the Fell Dragon, the first vessel, the demon alchemist Forneus. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Robin.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man i did NOT like writing this chapter; im really unhappy with it but its 2 am and everythign i ever do is just one big sad draft so maybe someday i'll rewrite it because honestly i fought so hard w this one that i gave up for like a month. im trying really hard w robin's characterization because it's been so long since i played awakening. thanks pam for the help :-)

It wasn’t until he stopped to breathe that he finally began to process those words. His fingers had curled into fists, uncurled, and curled back again. A thousand thoughts jolted through his mind all at once, a million different options, a billion different ways everything had gone so wrong in less than five seconds.

“No,” he finally said.

Forneus raised a brow. Of all reactions he had considered, denial wasn’t one of them.

“No?”

“No, I mean …”

Robin’s face contorted, a hand pressed against his forehead as he looked away from the self proclaimed alchemist.

“A person made that monster. A _ human being _ , with their own two hands, made that thing?”

The fireplace crackled behind Forneus, and Robin stood, cast in a deep shadow of his figure. He was shaking, his fingers twisting in his silvery hair, his mind working too quickly for his heart to keep up.

“And I’m a descendant of that monster’s maker?”

Forneus smiled wryly.

“The one and only.”

“Gods … GODS!” he cried out, frustration lacing his quivering voice. “You can’t be … you’re not--”

“Why not?” the alchemist cut in quickly, sharply, eyes cold. “We share the same bloodline, as evidenced by our relation to the Creation. And it appears you’ve inherited many of my features. You mistook me for Grima, didn’t you? You thought I was going to attack you. Possess you. Choke your spirit out and snuff out your consciousness, in that cold, awful way that only the Creation could do, and wear you like a suit of armor. Isn’t that right?”

Robin’s breathing hitched.

_ It really was me. _

“Look at me, Robin.”

He shook his head, stepping back. Forneus stepped forward.

“I said  _ look at me _ . You can’t turn away from this.”

Robin raised his head, his eyes meeting his ancestor’s, and with a soft, shaking voice, he spoke.

“Why did you do it?”

The fire’s crackling grew louder, like a chorus of voices.

“No one came to stop me.”

His voice steeled.

“That’s not good enough.”

The fingers in his hair released its grip and he lowered his hand, gaze sharp and certain. 

“That excuse isn’t good enough. You shouldn’t need someone else to to tell you not to be naughty. Try again, Forneus.”

“ _ No one. Came. To stop me _ ,” he repeated with a snarl, all previous instances of gentleness replaced by a frigid glare. “Sealed away in that cursed workshop, that atelier that became my tomb -- everything could’ve been saved if they had simply come to try and stop me. Is it my fault if their greed for power overtook their chance to preserve themselves?”

Robin gave him a withering look.

“Who is ‘they’?”

“The Senate. Thabes.  _ Everyone _ .”

He shook his head, pity clouding honey brown eyes.

“You don’t even realize how sad that sounds.”

“Don’t you dare,  _ boy, _ ” Forneus seethed. “You have no idea--”

“You managed to create the closest thing to a god,” Robin interrupted calmly. “And you’re not even capable of self awareness. I’m looking at you, just as you asked. And I see absolutely nothing worth talking to.”

A hand jut out and gripped Robin by his chin, clawed fingernails digging into the tender flesh of his cheeks.

“How  _ dare  _ you. You should be lucky to even be here,  _ little bird _ ,” Forneus growled lowly. “This is not your world and nothing here plays by your rules. If not for my interference, you would have disintegrated hand - in - hand with the Creation. You know  _ nothing _ beyond your limited lifespan, so it is in your best interest to _ know your place _ .”

With equally frigid tone, Robin raised a hand and gripped the wrist of the hand that had grabbed him, eyes piercing past tousled silver hair.

“You misunderstand your own importance to me, Forneus,” he spat. “Whether you ‘saved’ me or not has nothing to do with me being here now. Just as I rejected my own father, and the god he worshipped, I reject you, the creator of the god and the progenitor of this wretched line. If I had died, it would not have been in vain. And whether I live or not is not your decision to make. That is up to my friends, and the man who said he would find me and bring me home.”

The fireplace burst and the flames tore themselves from beyond the mantel, crackling and shrieking like an unholy choir, hot air fanning in his face and blowing from behind the alchemist in an inferno of cacophonous rage. The flames turned into a sharp distinct white, the intensity of light forcing Robin to squint turn away. But that wasn’t what surprised him.

It rang in Robin’s ears, the sound of moaning and crying children laced with the blaze of the roaring fire, and the sound of weeping shocked him into a reaction. He jumped back and Forneus sneered in response, his eyebrows furrowing as the flames seemed to forcefully push themselves back in their place in the hearth. The sounds of sobbing died away and the room returned to its tranquil state, the fireplace once again a cozy little heat, and Forneus, slouched in his chair by the desk.

“Get out,” he said.

Robin left.

 

-

 

In the following days that ensued (though time was impossible to track in a place where the windows were blackened and the world felt like a perpetual night), Robin explored the area that served as his sanctuary. He made little conversation with Forneus, who was probably still prickly since that fiery bit of outburst, and he opted instead to search through every room, open every door, and read every book. He would find the answer without that man’s help. 

Forneus, on the other hand, had stayed locked in his room.

On what Robin counted as the first day, he made a quick scan of the building. It appeared to be an inn of sorts, with a measly 29 rooms, a small kitchen, a cozy dining area, and a lounge. However, the place was bizarre, absolutely antique in its styling in ways that felt like a lost culture. Certain rooms were sadly bare, like Forneus’s room. They were fitted with a mere bed (or sometimes just a mat) and a fireplace. There was an occasional desk and stool in these types of rooms, and the amount of books and seemingly random food items or weapons varied. These items were found simply lying there, untouched, without the dust to embolden their antiquity. 

He wondered what kind of guests had come and gone, leaving only the strangest proofs of their existence here in these rooms. With a respectful amount of care, Robin picked up what looked to him like old sentimental trinkets and inspected them. They were strange toys, tiny little things like slingshots and chipped, dull knives. He slid his fingers against a rusted fire iron and wondered what it was doing among all the childish playthings.

The food were simple things like breads and cheeses. There was some awful looking gruel in wooden bowls that smelled like nothing, cold and congealing against the brim of the container.

What a sad place, he thought to himself.

Other rooms were much nicer, outfitted with beds that weren’t of hay or mats, instead laced with fine cloths and vanities like flowers and mirrors decorating the interior. The desks were much better quality, and one even held a fine quill. These rooms were much neater, but impersonal, as if no one had ever lived there at all.

He couldn’t decide which batch of rooms he liked the least -- the first or this.

He trekked on, searching the last five rooms for more answers.

The last five were the most grand of all, with beautiful designs and soft carpeting, lovely draperies decorating dark windows, the smell of the fireplace and sweet subtle perfume dancing together in the air. The beds were luxurious and soft, with sheer canopies offering the sleeper some privacy, and the walls were decorated with paintings and other small vanities.

Robin wondered why Forneus kept to that dingy little hole downstairs, rather than one of the rooms up here.

There were also a ridiculous amount of books and scrolls in these types of rooms, and one doubled as what Robin saw as the library, despite its terrible state of disarray.

He picked them up and skimmed the contents before realizing that the previous keeper had kept their own sort of organizing system. He had the same habit when spending his time in the Ylissean royal library, much to the librarian’s dismay.

The titles were very varied. As he looked through the first batch, subjects such as languages and rhetoric, history and culture, maths and magicks, all stood out to him as rather base examples of their topic. They were the kind of books that children would read, the ones who learned enough reading to try and make educational use out of it. The words were written in a large handwriting, and a number of them were circled and underlined.

However, Robin could not read any of them.

The general idea of the subjects were clear by the diagrams and pictures that were in them, and the visuals of these scrolls indicated their general audience. But they were written in a curly language which Robin had never seen before, and he clicked his tongue in frustration as he set them back down.

The second batch was significantly more complex, the maths from the previous batch looking absolutely elementary in the face of the second. He sat down, flipping through diagrams and drawings, of inventions and architectural concepts, drawings of people and the human anatomy, drawings of what appeared to be someone’s perception of a divine dragon’s anatomy.

That particular last bit, however, had been carefully folded and tucked away from any significantly religious eyes.

He still could not read any of the writings, but  _ gods _ he could appreciate the efforts put into it. The author had been outlining some sort of water system and indoor plumbing concepts by the end of that specific sketchbook.

Robin closed his eyes, wondering what kind of person had resided here before leaving for the next life.

When he opened them, he decided he was done with this room for the day and left, opting to return if he was particularly bored.

To his displeasure, however, one room was locked. It was the last one, the one at the very end of the corridor on the last floor. He rattled the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge. He knocked at it. It sounded heavy and hollow. There was no lock, and there was no keyhole. Robin clicked his tongue before returning to the second floor rooms and going to bed.

 

-

 

On the second day, as he declared by his personal sleeping schedule (which was always in discord, so it was an incredibly subjective measure of time) he realized that there was no door way out. The windows could not be smashed through, no matter how much of a ruckus he made trying. His weapons had not been at his side when he had first arrived to this strange place, and without his tome, he could not cast spells. So he went into the dining area and threw a chair at a high window. The wood crashed against it and splintered into pieces, shocking Robin into a yelp as a heap of wood bits scattered to the ground. That was not how physics worked, he thought to himself, as he tried again with a metal object. It was a pot from the kitchen, untouched and unused like the rest of the area, and the pot merely burst into bits of hot iron, raining over the room. Robin merely stood there, entirely unaffected thanks to his magically enhanced robe, and waited for the rain to stop.

Forneus made no sound or motion during the entire time, still locked in the room where Robin had left him, and the tactician was met with the incredibly uncomfortable sense that he was alone.

Nevertheless, there did not seem to be any sort of exit, despite the alchemist’s warning. But because he had told him to leave, surely it meant that there  _ was  _ a way out.

Robin dug through the kitchen pantries, as if hoping that one of the cabinets would have some kind of hole to escape through. But he was met with dusty pans and rusty utensils and not much else. There wasn’t even any actual food in here.

He made one last attempt at opening that final door at the end of the hallway, failed, and opted instead to roam the entire inn once more, fingers against the walls, hoping to find a hidden way out. There was no such thing found by the time he found himself tired again, and he went to bed feeling very frustrated and confused. His mind buzzed despite his psychosomatic exhaustion and he woke up feeling very unrested, but as if he had slept for a long time.

 

-

 

He had spent what he considered a solid week and a half combing through every inch of the residence, flipping through sketchbooks and diaries and books and scrolls, all of which were written in a language he could not comprehend, and he had still no clue of where he was or what was going on. Forneus had not left his room at all, not even once to find food or another book. Robin had allowed himself to check upon the other patron of this inn a single time, peering between the crack of the doorway. He was still there and was, to his great relief, sleeping dreamlessly, laying like he was dead.

Well, he technically was, he thought to himself, as he creaked open the door.

After having spent so long in the other parts of the building, he came to realize how simple this particular living quarter was. It was the poorest room of all, with its dirt floors and hay bed incomparable to the luxuries of the third floor.

He wondered briefly if Forneus was even capable of leaving this room.

He ignored the man, peeking at him every once in a while only to check to see if he had woken up by the noise he was making. Robin soundlessly snooped around, picking up books and scrolls and random and skimming them for any clues. This was the only room in which he had not truly searched, the other aspects of the house failing to fulfill any of his burning questions, to his immense frustration. There was nothing more vexing than not having the answers.

But to his horror, the books were not unreadable in the slightest, as the others in previous rooms had been. There was nothing foreign to it, no strange language, no indecipherable art.

As Robin hopped about the room, flipping open covers and unraveling scrolls, he was met with the same face.

Nothing.

The books in Forneus’s room were absolutely blank.

 

-

 

_ And the mystery grows deeper, _ Robin huffed to himself as he skimmed the covers for clues. He arranged them by color. By size. By similar characters on the titles. His efforts were in vain, as they brought about no particular revelations, and he hissed in frustration as he slumped in the chair. The fire crackled behind him as he pressed his fingers to his temple, nursing what he felt like was an oncoming headache.

Robin was not dead. It was not because of any particular observation that he came to that conclusion; by all accounts, for the fact that he was never quite tired or never quite hungry, he should’ve been presumed dead and gone. And this strange inn, his afterlife.

But of all the rooms and items he had found around the inn, with decor and trinkets of personal interests, none of them stood out to him as anything he recognized, as anything he could really point to and claim as his very own. If this place was, as he theorized, a sort of resting stop for the deceased, then why was it that he had woken up in a room that was was already occupied by Forneus and of his sole interests? And if those trinkets and books he had found upstairs were actually left behind by the people who had came and went, it would imply that they had brought something to the inn. Robin, on the other hand, was empty handed.

If this inn was a stop for the deceased, where rooms were personalized for every person that passed by, then he wasn’t supposed to be here. There was no place for him in this inn, no designated area, no personal important possessions that had followed him here. Robin was not dead.

He wondered though, how much of this analysis was skewed by his desire to just go home. Was he picking and choosing clues that fit the puzzle to his own satisfaction? But how would he view any of this objectively? He certainly wasn’t going to ask the alchemist, he had already decided on that the second he had left the room the first time.

Robin thought about how Chrom would’ve scolded him for his stubbornness and his hands pressed against his eyes, a heavy sigh slipping from his lips.

The crackle of the fire grew louder in his ears as he bit his tongue, trying his damnedest to figure out the logic of this place. Perhaps each family got one room? So every time a member of a family died, they appeared in the room of their lineage! No, that was stupid, families intermingled and there were only 30 rooms total, counting Forneus’s.

The fire was growing louder. Forneus did mention he was his other half of some sort. Perhaps he had shown up in this room rather than any other because he had a connection with him.

His back was warm and the fire grew louder.

But then, why was the entire place empty? Especially because of the wars, millions of people died the past few years, and yet the only occupants of the inn were himself and his predecessor.

The fire was ringing in his ears as Robin thought harder, tapping his fingers on the desk. He could feel the cogs in his mind churning rapidly as he concentrated. What about timelines? Were they accounted for? Was he in the afterlife of his timeline alone? Were they separated? Even so, nothing seemed to explain the barren rooms, devoid of any other life. Why were only certain rooms personalized? Why were the others so bland? Why wouldn’t the last door open? Why were Forneus’s books all empty? Why?  _ Why? _ **_Why?_ **

The flames were roaring now, in the way it had when Forneus had gotten upset with him. Robin finally turned to face the fire, and nearly fell out of the chair when he saw what poked out from the embers.

A child’s hand reached out, its palm upturned, beckoning. Robin’s eyes bulged, a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stop himself from waking up the man sleeping behind him. He looked back to check if he had stirred at all from the noise, only to find that he was entirely undisturbed, breathing shallowly.

Robin turned forward again, and the hand was waving him over, as if to rush him.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself in disbelief, as he bent over and reached forward, grabbing the small palm. The tiny fingers gripped around his own and with a powerful surge, the tactician felt himself falling into the flames, engulfed into the hearth.

And when he opened his eyes, he heard a laugh.

“There are  _ way _ better places to nap than on the ground, you know.”


	3. Chapter 3

Robin groaned as he nursed his aching head, skull ringing as he sat up on the ground. Still disorientated, he forced himself to his feet, stumbling as he pressed a hand against the wall behind him for support.

“Hurry, get up, before they get back.”

A little boy in a hooded cloak was hovering over another child, nudging him with an outstretched hand. The boy on the ground slapped the hand away, glaring as he scrambled back up, leaning against the edge of the fireplace for support. He was smaller than the other, scrawnier and dirtier, eyes sunken and face gaunt.

“C’mon, don’t be like that… What’s your name?” the first boy tried again.

“...”

He cocked his head.

“Any hint?” he pressed.

The other boy clutched the front of his shirt, stepping backwards just a bit, eyes turned away, muttering something under his breath.

“What? No, everyone’s got a name. What do people call you?”

He muttered something again, and the hooded boy leaned in to hear.

“I don’t see why you’d dislike it. It sounds noble,” he laughed, in the hearty and healthy voice of a child, as he took off his robe. He had blue hair, like the color of the sky, and Robin’s breath caught in his throat.

“It’s nice to meet you, Forneus! I’m Akromas.”

 

-

 

He was an audience, it seemed. There was nothing he could do to change the scene, a mere figure in the background of an ongoing performance. His fingers fell straight through objects, his voice merely wind in the air. And Robin stood there, in the center of the lounging area, watching blankly as Akromas yanked Forneus’s hand forward and inspected it, eyes squinting as he hummed.

“You’ve got a bit of a burn here, but there’s nothing that can’t fix that. There’s a well just around here, it’s got cold water. C’mon,” he insisted, wrapping his cloak around the scrawnier figure. The rich fabric swallowed Forneus whole and he shook his head.

“Can’t leave. Got work. Go away.”

Akromas snorted.

“As if. What kinda work you planning to do with a messed up hand? It won’t take long, don’t be stubborn.”

Before Forneus could protest, he whisked him away, two tiny figures tangling between the legs of adults. Robin watched them go, then back to the fire, where the flames flickered on. The light danced in his honey eyes, and he turned away to follow.

The two weren’t actually as far ahead as he thought, and he weaved around the crowd despite his ghostly state in this strange world. The residents were in strange clothing, long weaving robes that flowed over their ankles and bare skin, decorated with elaborate, delicate jewelry of gold and jewels, holding baskets of produce and foreign foods he had never even seen before.

He made a good two blocks down the path before he stopped to stare at their faces.

Silver hair and tanned skin and honey eyes.

People who looked like him.

_Plegia?_

He stumbled over his feet, turning this way and that to access his surroundings. The crowd passed by, walking right through him as if he weren’t there, paying him no mind, chattering about as they went on with their lives. The people were laughing, pleasant faces all cast in warm hues.

Warm hues?

Robin turned up to look at the sky.

It was a golden red, a blinding light glistening high above.

What in the world was that sun? And that sky? Why did everyone look like him? Why was Forneus so scrawny and little? Who was that Akromas kid, who looked nothing like anyone in this land? Why wouldn’t anyone acknowledge him? What was he here?

“Stop whining, it’s _supposed_ to sting!” he heard over his shoulder, and Robin buried his concerns in his heart as he remembered his initial quest and ran over to meet the two at the nearby well.

It was closer than he thought, because he nearly ran straight into Akromas as he turned the corner, a hand gripped against the edge of the building for support.

Forneus hissed as the other dabbed his wounded hand with a cloth, his ratty little face twisted up in a grimace. The other boy frowned.

“Dumb bullies… picking on someone so helpless, it’s not right. Uncle says there’s no honor in fighting someone who can’t defend themselves.”

“I’m not _helpless_ ,” he snarled, yanking back his hand. “You didn’t have to step in, I was fine.”

Akromas gave him a frustrated look, lips pressed together in displeasure.

“They got you ganged up four to one and tried to burn your arm off in the fireplace. You were not _fine_.”

“You should mind your own business,” Forneus snapped, tenderly holding the back of his hand where the wound stung. “They’re always like that. You wouldn’t know. They could’ve done the same to you if you didn’t have a knife on you. You would’ve looked stupid, jumping in like some sort of wannabe hero.”

Akromas narrowed his eyes as he held out his hand.

“Fine by me. Give me your hand.”

“No.”

“Forneus, give me your dumb hand.”

“You’re a fool.”

“No, _you’re_ the fool, if you think I’m gonna sit back and watch someone try and mutilate some dumb brat. Now come on, it probably stings.”

“It doesn't. Go away.”

With a huff, Akromas held up the bucket he had drawn from the well.

“Give me your hand or I’ll dump this all over you.”

Forneus gasped.

“You _wouldn’t_.”

He tilted the bucket, just a little.

“Fine! Whatever! Just hurry up!” he snapped.

Akromas grinned cheekily as he took back his hand, returning to dabbing at the burn gently. Forneus drew his knees up, his bare toes curling and digging into the sandy dirt as he looked away.

“Geez, that definitely would’ve left a mark. It’s okay though, it looks cool. Call it a battle scar, if anyone asks.”

Forneus didn’t answer, his chin leaning against his knees and his eyebrows furrowed. This did not seem to deter his companion.

“See, now that we took care of it, it’ll end up looking a lot better than these other burns here,” Akromas continued, poking at the older wounds that had trailed up his arm. “Man, you should’ve taken care of those earlier too. It’s alright though, as long as you’re okay in general. I’ll give you some ointment to put on it, so it’ll probably fade pretty quickly too. I got it from Uncle, and he says it’s imbued with magic from Naga’s blessings, so it might not even leave a mark. See, I actually got hurt really badly on my knee, but you can’t see any of it because I used the ointment as soon as I could, so I know it works. It’s the real deal. Anyway, it’ll blister after a while, but don’t pick at it, because that’s the worst thing you cou--”

“You talk too much,” Forneus snipped, though not unkindly. Akromas beamed.

“Well, I would talk a lot less if you contributed to the conversation, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“Huh?! You should at least thank me!”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Ungrateful little brat, you are,” Akromas rolled his eyes. He put the cloth on his lap before turning to dig in his pockets. He pulled out a tiny little seashell, white with a pinkish tint, and opened it, revealing a glistening little bit of creamy ointment inside.

Forneus’s eyes widened as he finally looked towards his direction.

“What _is_ that?”

“It’s the ointment, dummy.”

“Not that! The case.”

“It’s just the case.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said softly, staring at the way the little grooves glistened dully in the light. “What a fantastic design.”

Akromas looked at him, his face softening as Forneus gawked with glistening eyes.

“Uncle says Lady Naga brought it to Thabes during a Day of Harvest. She brought lots, with different shapes and patterns. Stuff that looked like cones and fans and something huge that was hollow on the inside. All sorts of weird colors and whatnot. She said it was from something called ‘the Sea’.”

“The Sea,” he repeated softly, tracing the top of the shell with his finger. “It sounds lovely.”

Akromas smiled, holding it forward.

“You can have it, if you want. I’ve got more at home. Plus, you need it more than I do anyway.”

And for the first time, Forneus looked straight at Akromas, with his strange hair and pale skin and indistinguishable colored eyes, radiating with an unfamiliar softness.

“Thank you,” he said, his hands trembling nervously. “It's wonderful.”

Dear Akromas, with his hair and eyes of the color of the sea.

 

-

 

For what felt like a very long time, Robin did not see Akromas again. He found himself sticking with what appeared to be his ancestor’s child self, perhaps out of a kinship, as loathe as he was to admit. Following Forneus honestly didn’t feel any different from when he had wandered around the property in which he had first woken up, though this time he at least had something to do other than explore. Beyond that first instance of tender interaction, the rest of his ancestor’s life had kept to chores, confined in the little property with fourteen bedrooms, the kitchen, the lounge, and the dining room. Forneus was one among many sad looking children who ran about tending to the property, and they were identifiable by appearance, Robin quickly learned. They were cold and aggressive among one another, subservient and small among the guests, all in the same worn robes, the same silver cuffs around their throats, the same quiet misery sinking deep into their bones. This was an inn, he had discovered, and the keeper was no kinder to his slaves than were the guests, who jeered if they ever caught one in their sight.

Ah, but no one ever called them slaves, they called them ‘servants’ and ‘the help’. But Robin knew better than to take that information at face value.

Forneus was the smallest of them, and his tiny fingers were just small enough to properly clean the corners of the fireplace grate without missing nearly as much soot. And as the smallest, he was the most susceptible to being the scapegoat of punishments for the other children, for when they spilled soup and broke plates.

Try as he might, there was nothing Robin could necessarily do, because he did not necessarily exist in this world. As he understood, he was living in a memory, and he was merely a spector in the crushing claustrophobia that was the four corners of the inn walls. While the guests merrily ate and drank in the dining room, children behind the doors clawed at the scraps left behind, and Robin stared blankly as they scarfed down stale bread.

He had never been in this position before. A place where he could not do something. Couldn’t help. Couldn’t fix the problem. Couldn’t engage. His chattiness had dropped to dead silence, and his words kept in his head. His fingers would tap ceaselessly at the wood tables where he’d lean against his hand and watch the innkeeper mercilessly yell at Forneus.

What a position, however, for his ancestor. The great and terrible demon alchemist. The creator of the Fell Dragon. The first vessel.

So this is what made a monster.

He closed his eyes, face twisting in confliction as Forneus curled up in a bed of straw and shivered beneath a thin rag.

Even monsters deserve some peace, Robin thought miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had decided beforehand that this was a fic where i'd write w/out pressure, just write whenever i felt like it. because the subject matter is so subjective and headcanon orientated, it didn't really matter if people were paying attention or not. so i'm retconing and whatnot as i go, since i'm writing mindlessly. i hope that doesn't bother, if you're reading this.
> 
> a lot of this going forward is going to bend a lot of fire emblem canon, because i know very little about marth's games and what happens in between his games and awakening. 
> 
> haha who's akromas i really wonder who it is, don't you, chrom krom fire emblem???
> 
> anyway thank you for reading! sorry it's so short i actually do have some more written out but it's nearly 4 am so see you next (i check my watch) year


	4. Chapter 4

This was the closest that Robin had ever gotten to Forneus of his own volition. He often preferred to watch from the side, sitting away from the action, knowing full well that he had been forced into the role of a passive audience. Sure, it hasn't stopped him from trying to jump between his child ancestor and a kid he tried to push down the stairs when they had gotten into a fight over stolen cheese, but even those few attempts of instinctive peacemaking had done nothing to the overall experience of being sidelined on an existential level. Forneus and his fellow slave were made to run water from the well for the other kids as punishment. And boy, did his predecessor get a  _ lot _ of those.

The innkeeper himself wasn’t physically abusive, but he was certainly unfair and cold, from what he understood. Usually, if Forneus was even at the scene of whatever crime was committed among the servants, he got some sort of outlandish chore for punishment.

But this time, it was different.

The country of Thabes had no ruling monarch, which Robin found bizarre and exciting. They had what they called a Senate, and the inn was more of a place for the Senators, who congregated from their individual sections of this city state once a month, to eat and rest. It was, to Robin’s shock, the only inn in Thabes.

He wondered if Thabes was the name of the country before Plegia had made its international debut, but he couldn't be certain. 

The sky shouldn't look like that in  _ any _ country.

Regardless, he was leaning closely next to Forneus’ shoulder, peering over to look at the piece of paper in his hand. It was written in that curly language again, the one that looked like a song and the one he could not read.

It didn't seem like Forneus could read it either. He squinted, turning his head this way and that.

“You don't need to know what it says, boy,” the innkeeper said without looking at him, his focus centered solely at his little desk. He was writing something on a scroll with the biggest quill that Robin had ever seen. 

Forneus looked up.

“What do I do with this, sir?”

“The Senate is having a debate this evening and it’s expected to last well past supper. You are to deliver their meal to them.”

“Catering?” Robin snorted out loud, knowing well that no one could hear. “What sort of debate lasts so long that the government needs  _ catering _ ?”

“That’s a letter. Give it to the guards upon delivery. Ask the cook for instructions.” he said, finally looking up.

The innkeeper was a mean looking middle aged man, heavyset like he had lost a fit figure and wrinkling like an aging scrap paper thrown in a basket, left to be forgotten. His eyes looked like they were being kept in his skull by the sheer will of his narrowed eyelids, and they glared at Forneus as he raised a fat little ringed finger to point accusingly at him.

“You will not make a single mistake. I’ll have you clean the fireplaces with your  _ tongue _ if you ruin anything. I’ll revoke your meals for a month. You will sleep outside. Do not talk to the Senators. Do not even make eye contact with the Senators. Do not speak to the guards more than you have to. Do not stray from your one job. Do not do  _ anything _ unnecessary. Do I make myself clear?”

Forneus bowed, tucking the letter carefully in a tiny pouch tied to his waist.

“Yes, sir. I won’t screw around.”

The innkeeper scoffed, waving away dismissively, and Forneus left quickly. Robin stayed back and waited a while to give the man a long glare. He stuck his tongue out at him, blowing a raspberry, and then ran to catch up to the little boy.

The cook wasn’t as nearly as terrible to the children as was the innkeeper. Oftentimes he was just grumpy and gruff, having to cook so often for so little while dealing with kids who sometimes stole ingredients without his knowing, only to find out the second he needed it. But he rarely reported these thefts, often just excusing his improvised dishes with the insistence that he just wanted to try something new. He was a large muscled man with stubble and a constant look of bitter exhaustion, as if he lived and enjoyed himself solely out of spite for anyone who tried to make his life hard. Robin quite liked this man, with his no - nonsense attitude and disdain for the innkeeper.

This time, he was stirring a stew in an unbelievably large pot when Robin came in. The basket with dirty dishes and utensils was overflowing, and the fire cooking the stew had made the kitchen very, very hot.

“Oh good, you're here,” the man grunted, wiping the sweat off his face with a rag.

Forneus blanched.

“I have to deliver that whole thing? By  _ myself _ ?”

“Hell no! I’ll be taking this over myself, Naga knows your scrawny ass can't carry this,” he snapped, putting a lid over the clay pot. He paused. “Wait, you’re the only one on delivery?”

“Yes.”

“‘Course that no - good rotten keeper would send just one skinny brat to do all the hard work,” he muttered under his breath, ruffling Forneus’s hair. “Sorry kid, looks like you’re making more than one trip. I’d lend you a hand, but I have to finish this, and that shitty keeper would probably throw a fit if I lent you the cart I gotta use for this.”

“I figured,” Forneus shrugged, fixing his hair. “What am I delivering?”

“Just the bowls and utensils for the meal. Gotta get them over first, since I gotta serve the stew and bread while it’s hot. I set them up in two baskets. Seven sets each. They’re heavy though, you want me to split it further?”

“No, I’ll manage. There’s only twelve Senators though.”

The cook sniffed, turning his attention back to slicing bread.

“In case something goes wrong and twelve sets don’t show up at the door,” he said gruffly.

Robin grinned, crossing his arms as he leaned against the edge of a table.  _ What a guy _ , he thought to himself, chuckling quietly as Forneus cracked a small smile of his own.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, sir.”

“Wasn’t for you. Can’t stand it when the keeper’s yapping in my ear. The baskets are out in the back.”

 

-

 

“Hey, it’s you again!”

Forneus nearly dropped the whole basket in surprise, a choked gasp of air slipping from his throat as he wheezed and put it back on the ground. Robin’s eyebrows raised as the familiar face ran up to the two.

Akromas gave him a wide grin and Forneus groaned.

“You again.”

“Hey! Is that any way to talk to your lord and savior?!” Akromas frowned, his sandals kicking up dust as he hopped around Forneus and leaned his palms against the rim of the basket. “Woah! What’re you gonna do with all these?! You havin’ a party?”

“No,” Forneus said, slapping his hands off. “I’m on delivery. Don’t bother me while I’m working.”

“Uhh, no offense but how’d someone like  _ you _ get a job like this? You look like you could barely hold up a lizard, much less a whole basket of bowls.”

“It’s my job,” he said, answering nothing. “Now get out of my way, I have another basket to deliver too.”

“Huh?! Another?! Hey, you want my help? We could get it done a lot faster, and then we can play! I’d say we could play hunting in the river, but --” Akromas turned his head upwards, towards the irregular ball of light in the sky. “The blessing is dimming, so it’s gonna be dark soon. So we can do indoor stuff. My uncle just lent me this awesome book we could read!”

“You talk too much,” Forneus groaned, picking the basket back up and starting his trek once more.

“Yeah, ‘cause you don’t know how to use your mouth right. Where’s the second basket?”

“It’s at the inn, you won’t be able to--”

“The inn?” Akromas said, eyes widening. “You work  _ there _ ? Geez, you must be richer than I thought, working at a famous place like that!”

“Do I look rich to you?!” Forneus snapped, putting the basket back down with a force that made the bowls inside rattle. “Just leave me alone!”

Akromas stopped, his previous expression wiped into something more somber, a childish pout on his lips as he frowned.

“Fine.”

And he walked past Forneus, right back to the direction he had come from, stomping his little feet. Robin turned his head to watch him go.

“That was a little too easy, don’t you think?” he asked Forneus, who clearly couldn’t hear a thing he was saying.

It hadn’t been even five minutes of silent marching until the distant sound of clattering was growing louder, coming closer, creeping nearer.

“HEEEEY!! FORNEUS!”

He groaned out loud, resting the basket back on the ground, before turning to face Akromas, a wide, shit - eating grin stretched across his face as he carried the second basket in his arms, running up to him with the face of a man who had won a war.

“Your cook’s a real nice guy! Are we going to the Senate? Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I was going that way too!”

Forneus closed his eyes, rubbing his fingers against the bridge of his nose as he leaned a hand against his own basket. It was a funny looking gesture when it was someone so small doing it, Robin thought, and he stifled a laugh as Akromas set his basket down next to him.

“You okay?” he asked, tilting his head to try and look at Forneus’s face.

“No,” the other boy said slowly. “No, I’m not okay, because you’re being a real jerk who won’t leave me alone! I could get in  _ trouble _ for this, Akromas! This is supposed to be my  _ punishment _ , I’m  _ supposed _ to have a hard time with this, I’m  _ supposed _ to be taking forever right now! And no, I cannot  _ play _ with you afterwards because I still have to go back and do my regular chores after this!  _ No _ , I’m not good at this and  _ no _ , I’ll never be good at this, my arms hurt and I’m sweaty and I’m hungry and my feet are sore and I’m tired because I didn’t sleep well last night and I  **_don’t_ ** want to deal with you right now, even if you did help me one time! If I’d known I’d have to put up with you for the rest of my life, I wouldn’t have let you help me that one time!!”

Robin barely noticed that he had taken a step back during Forneus’s outburst, and Akromas stared at him with widened eyes, his eyebrows shooting up under his hair as he stood back upright.

“Well, there you go,” he said simply, picking his basket back up. “Shall we go then?”

“What?!” the other said, clearly disheveled and red in the face from his tantrum. “Didn’t you hear a thing I said?!”

“I did,” Akromas nodded. “I knew you had something to say. Just wish it wasn’t you telling me to go away, though, ‘cause I can’t do that. C’mon, if we don’t get to the Senate soon, we’re gonna be late. Then you’ll  _ really _ be in trouble.”

Forneus just stared at him, his honey eyes glistening with something akin to disbelief and another emotion that Robin couldn’t quite place. Biting his lip, he grabbed his own basket, and quietly followed his friend. His head was bowed, but not out of shame or embarrassment.

 

-

 

“Desmona!” Akromas called out suddenly as the two reached the top of the stairs.

“Akromas?” the guard yelped, rushing over to the two. “When did you get out?!”

Forneus gasped for air as he leaned against his basket, wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his hand. Desmona the guard dropped her spear, pulling a handkerchief from the strapped pouch at her waist, and immediately started rubbing Akromas’s face, much to his displeasure. He yowled like an irritated cat, resisting as she wiped off his sweat.

“You’re such a brat,” she huffed, “Giving me a scare like that. No one even noticed you left the building! When did you go?”

“It wasn’t for long,” Akromas whined, pushing her away. “I just needed some air. Old people complaining about politics gets  _ boring _ .”

Desmona snickered, pocketing her handkerchief and standing back to her feet.

“Can’t argue with that one. At least give me a heads up next time.”

“Will do,” he grunted, rubbing his cheek.

“Who’s your friend there?”

“Huh?” Akromas turned to Forneus, who had long since caught his breath, and was now gawking at the doors of the Senate building. “Oh! That’s Forneus. He and I are helping with the dinner delivery! Figured I’d be some use outside of the Senate, if I can’t do anything in it.”

“Really now? Good for you, kid,” she grinned, ruffling his hair. “Ugh! You’re all sweaty! Gross!”

Robin stood at the front of the doors as well, gawking just as much as Forneus, at the insane architectural display. The sheer size of the building was less of interest to the tactician who’d seen many an empire’s castle grounds, but the decor on the walls enough was to blow him away. The intricate patterns and swooping overhead arch of the door were unlike anything he’d ever seen before -- the general design familiar to him from his visit to Plegia, but even the Plegian castle couldn’t hold a candle to the immaculate thought put into every inch of the front building. And beyond the doors, a large round dome with carvings of a beautiful dragon decorated in gems and painted with large, lovely colors stood over the city, casting them all in a shadow.

“Your first time here?” Desmona asked.

“Yeah,” Robin answered thoughtlessly before realizing who she was talking to. He turned in time to see Forneus nod slowly.

“Who’s that?” he asked, pointing towards the dragon carving.

“That’s Lord Naga!” Akromas said. “The patron goddess of Thabes. She’s the reason any of us are alive right now.”

“What do you mean? Couldn’t we live without the goddess?”

“No way, kiddo,” Desmona laughed. “‘Not when we live down here. We would’ve died within a month without her guidance and blessings. Where’d you pick up this dunce, Akromas?”

“Farmer’s market. Fresh this morning,” he joked, elbowing Forneus, who was starting to look a bit annoyed. “C’mon, let’s go deliver these, before the cook gets there first with nothing to serve his food in. I’m starving too.”

“What?” he raised a brow. “We’re not eating here! I’m supposed to go home! And you should go home too!”

“This  _ is _ my home, dumb - dumb,” Akromas laughed, rolling his eyes. “You’re at my doorstep. My uncle’s the Exalt of the Senate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trying to keep all ur plot details in ur brain is hard when u have exactly 2 brain cells and the authoring speed of a dead rat


	5. Chapter 5

_“What’s so bad about it?” Henry cut in, catching Robin off - guard. “What’s so terrible about Grima taking over the world?”_

_The dark mage flashed his emblematic crooked grin and the tactician frowned._

_“Henry,” he said sternly. “This is no time for jokes --”_

_“I’m not joking, though,” he replied just as sternly, tapping a thin boney finger on the table of their war tent._

_The Shepherds were on their third day up on Mount Prism, the apex growing closer with every day they marched, the pressure of the promised rite steeling their commander’s will. He was tired, everyone was tired, battle worn from fighting off the Risen that guarded the holy site, and the longer Robin sat around to worry about the inevitable final battle between humanity and fell god, the worse his anxiety grew. No amount of research and scheming and worrying had resulted in any sort of backup plan, in case he miscalculated their chances. In case the Grimleal pulled the rug out from under him._

_In case he made a mistake._

_No matter how exhausted he was from the day’s battles, he had found sleep to be a fickle and rare creature of occurrence. How did Atlas breathe under the weight of the world?_

_That’s how he had found himself here, sitting at the war tent when everyone else had gone to bed, squinting at maps with a hand fisting his hair, to the dim lights of fluttering candles. And Henry, who had been on patrol duty that night, had stopped by to greet his fellow Plegian, looking like he’d had the beauty nap of his life._

_“Everyone would die,” Robin said slowly, unsure exactly what kind of answer Henry was expecting. Wasn’t the consequence of failure a given? “You’ve heard what happened from the children. The world would crawl with Risen and nothing else. And kids like them, who should never have had to pick up a sword, will have to fight to the death for the right to survive. We can’t let that happen.”_

_“But then what about the Grimleal who want that? Don’t they have a point too?”_

_Robin folded the map on the desk, tucking it back between the pages of an old book, face stoney and somber._

_“I won’t berate you for sympathizing with the Grimleal, especially given that you actually grew up in that culture, but can I ask what point you’re talking about?”_

_Henry snorted, waving his hand._

_“Hah! It’s less of a cultural thing and more of a ideology thing. Hard sympathize with people who are so obsessed with saving other people.”_

_“Saving other people? That’s what we’re trying to do, but you’re on our side, aren’t you?”_

_“Ehh, being the hero is suuuuuper subjective, don’cha think? Tharja could probably tell you more about the inner workings of the Grimleal than I ever could, but I don’t think anyone in Ylisse has actually considered the reason for their genocidal cause. Which is a damn shame, because it’s a_ real _funny story.”_

_“Do you know something that could help us?” Robin asked patiently, folding his hands over the table._

_“Dunno if it helps, but it really just occurred to me that you really don’t know what kind of roots you came from.”_

_“Ah … well …”_

_Robin rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly._

_“I don’t exactly think of myself as Plegian, even if I look like one. Ylisse is my home. So after I condemned my birthright and blood father, I just kind of … never tried to connect to the country itself. I suppose that’s my mistake.”_

_“I get it. But it’s not exactly tactically sound reasoning to never ask why your enemies act the way they do, don’cha think?”_

_“I never expected to get advice on strategy and cultural sensitivity from you, I’ll be honest.”_

_Henry barked out a laugh, shaking his head._

_“Oh, don’t get me wrong! Robin, I honestly couldn’t care less about your stance on Plegia, much less so on how it might impact your choices on the battlefield. But I did learn lots from being in the Shepherds! We’re a real funny bunch of guys, aren’t we, coming from all over the world? Just for some silly morals we’re so intent on defending? Not even for a country but just for the general concept of humanity? Even marching bands might have more of a solid purpose than us.”_

_“I’d say we’re pretty good on the purpose department, thank you very much,” the tactician huffed. “Where in the world are you going with this?”_

_“What I mean is, the Shepherds have had it easy this whole time. The Grimleal has their stance. It’s a multi - purpose agenda with lots of nuances and details. I’ve found that it’s much harder to sell to people who aren’t born into the cult, because of all the work you have to do in justifying it. And all the Shepherds have had to do so far is say ‘no’ to that. But what exactly are you saying no to?”_

 

-

 

“What’s an Exalt?” Forneus asked dumbly.

“Geez, you really do live under a rock, huh?”

Desmona gently tugged the back of Akromas’s robe, as if to lightly scold him. Forneus gave him a warning glare, and he laughed nervously, backing down.

“An Exalt is like, the head of the Senate. They're not the almighty leader or anything, their input is just most valuable among the Senators. They usually get the final say on lots of things, because they're chosen by Naga herself. The people elect the Senators and the Exalt has the final say on who gets in, but they aren't allowed to appoint anyone themselves.”

Forneus sniffed. “A government decided by a dragon sounds silly.”

Akromas laughed, giving him a hard slap on the back. “And someone your size trying to carry that many bowls up the Senate steps is impossible, but we made it, didn't we? C’mon, let’s go hand this over and then we can go to my room, Uncle won't even care if I'm not there for the debate. It's going way past my bedtime anyway.”

“Erm, Lord Akromas,” Desmona began, pressing her hand against his back very gently. “Pardon my input, but should he not be introduced to the Lord Exalt?”

“Aww whatever, he's busy. I'll let him know later,” he waved her away, grabbing Forneus by the hand. “Let's go get a servant to pick these up.”

“Wait! I can’t just --”

Before he could protest, Akromas had done it again, tugging him by the arm into the grand Senate building, without ever once looking back.

But Forneus had, and the last thing he saw before those great painted doors shut was a look of disdain twisted on the guard’s face.

 

-

 

_“You’re much more different than you used to be,” Robin said slowly, genuine surprise in his tone. Henry cackled, slapping his hand on the table between them._

_“Nyaha! you’re a riot, you know that? I’m still the same! I just realized how dumb everyone else is! You too! No offense, Robin.”_

_“How am I not supposed to take offense to that?” he frowned, rubbing his temple._

_“But you_ are _,” Henry said. “‘Cause you don’t like to look at ugly things. You’re our tactician for good reason, yeah, but you don’t know a lot about other stuff, even though you’ve traveled the world. Maybe it’s ‘cause you’ve never been on the enemy team before. You’ve always stuck to the side you’re on and fought against anyone who challenged it.”_

_“I hardly think that sitting at a peacemaking table with people like Gangrel or Walhart would’ve done anything when they went about massacring innocents. And asking Validar or Grima for a conference might pose a bit of a challenge itself,” he drawled, thoroughly unimpressed._

_“Remember when I picked up a Risen arm for fun and decided I was gonna dissect it to see how it moved?”_

_“Yes, it was disgusting.”_

_“Well that’s just it! It was deader than dead! Nothing could’a been hurt by that silly old thing! But you made me toss it ‘cause you thought it was gross.”_

_“Henry, you were carrying an undead corpse arm.”_

_“And my point still stands. It’s harmless to take a look at stuff that might be worth checking out. What if there was a way we could’a learned to undo a Risen summoning from studying the bodies? Or studying the summoning sigils? In the same way, what if there was a way to undo Grima’s influence by understanding what made people so faithful to a mean dragon to begin with?” he pointed. “You only know about the Ylissean way, and nothing else, because all the neighboring countries we’ve allied ourselves with have followed the Ylissean way too. That’s a disadvantage.”_

 

-

 

“C’mon, sit here and read with me,” Akromas gestured, patting the cushy seat next to him.

Forneus stood frozen at the doorway, his hands balled into fists by his side as he looked around the room with incredulity, as if waiting for a guillotine to fall on him the second he walked through the arches of the entry. Akromas rolled his eyes, waving his arm harder.

“Come _on_! What’re you so scared of, it’s just my room!” he said, crossing his legs on the couch and knocking some of his toys off the seat to make space.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Forneus said simply, as if that should explain everything. He took a step back.

“Why not? I invited you.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“With who? Uncle?”

“Yes! And my keeper! And everyone!” he snapped, taking another step back. “Are you stupid or just making fun of me?!”

“What?!” Akromas’s face scrunched up in indignation. “Stupid?! And why would I make fun of you?!”

There was a moment of pause that Forneus used to collect his thoughts, as if overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his feelings, his face crinkled with an indescribable countenance. And in that moment, before he could get a word in, Akromas burst the tension with a goofy snort, laughing as he slid off the couch and over to the doorway.

“Geez, for someone so afraid of authority, you sure don’t seem to be afraid of insulting me.”

“I’m hardly afraid of _you_ ,” Forenus replied shrilly, his aggravation worsened by the other’s good humor. “You barely know your place.”

“And you barely know _the_ place. What’s an idiot like you who doesn’t know what an Exalt is gonna tell me about _my_ place? Seriously, you’re afraid of all the wrong things.” Akromas rolled his eyes in amusement, tugging him by the arm. “Enough excuses you coward. You’ll be home before the blessing burns again. I’ll ask Uncle to put in a good word for you too.”

“...My feet are dirty.”

“And my room is dirty. You’ll fit right in.”

 

-  


 

Robin sat on the corner of Akromas’s bed, cushioned between two large pillows, and watched as the children curled up on the corner of the couch, caught in a passionate explanation of the book Akromas had to share. It had been a couple of hours now, and he had watched the great light in the sky slowly dim in a way he had never seen before. This sun did not set, but merely went out, dimming into a faint green light that cast the whole city in a quiet peace. He made a mental note of it before turning back to the mirage of his predecessor’s past.

“So like I said, it was about the prince and the dragon, ultimately. The princess hardly mattered, in my opinion,” Akromas explained to his illiterate friend, whose brow was scrunched in concentration over the swirly letters of the page. “This word means ‘destiny’ and this is ‘together’.”

“The characters look similar,” Forneus said softly, pressing his fingers onto the paper. “If this one is pronounced as such, then this should be ‘quest’.”

Akromas raised a brow.

“I thought you said you couldn’t read.”

“I can’t. This is just kinda easy,” he drawled, yawning. “I’ve always wondered what those symbols meant.”

Blue eyes blinked before dipping into something sweet, and a smile creased Akromas’s face as he closed the book.

“It’s getting late. It’s definitely past bedtime now.”

“Oh shit --” Robin muttered to himself, scrambling off the bed and bouncing around the two before settling on the sofa with an embarrassing lack of grace. He had never been so thankful for his apparently lack of physical entity. No matter how easily he passed through solid figures, he still found himself uncomfortable with the idea of sitting where someone else lay, as if to carve himself a space where there was none.

“You’re much more fun to talk to when you’re not being mean,” Akromas said as they curled up in quilted sheets. “You should be nicer to me.”

Forneus snorted softly through his drowsiness.

“It’s not my job to be fun. It’s my job to behave.”

“Really? That’s lame.”

“Of course you can say things like that. No one’s gonna tell no to the Exalt’s blood family.”

Robin regarded Forneus’s quick understanding of power dynamics with something between confusion and impression. A mere couple of hours ago he hadn’t known what an Exalt was, but now he had grasped that the Exalt was something of a king in this country. Based on his personal interpretation of the given context, Robin had read the ‘Exalt’ as something a little more democratic than a monarch.

But perhaps absolute power is all Forneus has ever known.

...

He remembers Grima and shutters.

Akromas shifted uncomfortably in the bed, curling up before uncurling again, shifting his arms under the pillow and back out, before finally just propping himself upright with his elbows.

“We’re not blood related. If you saw Uncle, you’d be able to tell right away.”

Forneus’s sleepy eyes slowly opened back up.

“Hmm,” was all he said in response.

“I think that’s why he doesn’t like it when I leave the Senate. I look weird. Stand out right away.”

“You do. You look sickly, with that pale skin of yours,” Forneus replied mercilessly, turning to lay on his back. “And your hair and eyes are especially odd. Woe to you, o Exalted nephew.”

Akromas huffed, as if deeply offended, and bounced himself back on his side, back facing Forneus.

“You’re being mean again.”

“I’m being honest,” he said simply, rubbing his eyes. “And you like that. Why else would you invite the untouchable into your home, if not to have them serve you?”

There was a moment of quiet before Akromas huffed again.

“You’re quite clever, aren’t you, Forneus? And I don’t mean it as insult.”

“You’re just easy to understand.”

They spoke in hushed tones, whispers between sheets as they cradled their pillows, as if exchanging secrets.

“You’re not mad?”

“That I’m here for your entertainment?”

Akromas shook his head, but Forneus continued.

“That’s what it is, isn’t it? Amuse yourself by using the poor, stupid slave boy and make him dance. Just like those kids who tried to burn my arm in that furnace in the inn.”

This, apparently, was too much for Akromas, who jumped up from where he lay, his face scrunched in insult.

“I am **nothing** like --”

“Maybe the innkeeper will be happy I’ve found favor with you. Maybe not. But this, too, shall pass. Like those kids. And the people who came before you. And the people who will come after. And I’ll die, face down in a ditch somewhere, when my hands grow too big and weak to clean the furnace. Just like how the dragon that protected the kingdom was slain after running off with the princess.”

“That wasn’t the point of the story,” Akromas said rather dumbly. “You -- ... aren't you afraid?”

“I'm always afraid. I'm still a child too, aren't I? Even if no one thinks of me as a human," he drawled. "But you see, it’s like you said. The princess hardly matters in this story. How she feels about all that nonsense. How do you know she was kidnapped? That she didn’t want to be with the dragon? That she didn't want to run away? Just because the book told you so?”

Akromas’s face fell, realizing he had never read it from such a perspective.

“Then why do you think you’ll die face down in a ditch when you stop being useful?" he challenged. "Just because people have told you so?”

Forneus closed his eyes, tucking himself deeper in the sheets.

“And why do you think your skin and hair is strange? Just because _I_ told you so?”

And with that, he fell asleep, and it was the first time Robin saw peace instead of worry between his brows. The tactician sat still on the couch corner, his face buried in his hands, as exhaustion swept over him. He was tired. He never felt so tired before. His shoulders sagged, the coat on his back growing heavy, he was sinking, sinking, sinking --

Akromas touched the collar bound to Forneus’s throat, as if to apologize, and soon the world turned black.

 

-

 

 

_ “You’re right,” Robin said with a defeating groan, rubbing his face with his hand. “You’re right. But only about knowing the enemy. The -- the other stuff, about the Grimleal cause having a point --” _

_ He waved his hand, an exhausted sigh escaping his lips. _

_ “I want to understand that point. But I will never legitimize genocide.” _

_ “Oh booo,” Henry said, leaning back in his seat. “But that’s okay -- the first bit, the understanding part, is all I really wanted to push. The Grimleal cause is glorious and foolish, but that doesn’t mean you have to believe in it.” _

_ “Help me understand, then.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i roll up sipping from a juice box after nearly a year of being dead) whats up party rockers  
> honestly im just trying to have fun
> 
> forneus and akromas are still children but akromas is asking for validation in the wrong way from the wrong person. also im definitely just kickin up as i go because my initial intentions with their relationship build up was abandoned solely bc forneus is just much more self aware than akromas, even if he's less educated. akromas didnt expect to get called out on it, either. also i really dont mean to sideline robin as much as i ended up but he literally has no input in whats happening so it seems useless to have him think out loud with no one there to help him develop these thoughts into more coherent understandings.
> 
> ok back to finals. thanks for reading!


End file.
